Selfish
by Heather Giesbrecht
Summary: Why did she have to be so selfish ? Why couldn't she have told him what she was going to do ? Thomas/Lucille. Thomas/Alan. Complete.


**Selfish**

Thomas was too busy staring at Lucille...a-at her body, to listen to Cushing. Unconsciously, he reached out to stroke the pale cheek, it was oddly warm. If he ignored the sliced open throat he could pretend that she was sleeping. She'd always preferred night to day because that was when they could be together. All her soot black moths would live never knowing, never caring, what had happened to their breeder.

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, wrenched him from Lucille and slammed him into the mortuary's wall of drawers. Grey-eyes incensed in the tanned and bandaged face. "Are you even listening to me, boy ? Let me explain again, she tried to murder me ! Did you know about that, Fauntleroy, well, did you ?"

Anger coursed through him and he punched the older man, screaming, "Stop touching me, stop fucking touching me, you heathen !" Cushing crashed into Lucille's table knocking her to the grey concrete floor. Distantly, he noticed Edith was staring between them as he rushed to scoop up Lucille's body the loosened hair brushing his arms. Sadness subsumed his rage, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Why did you have to be so selfish, Lucille ?! W-why couldn't you have told me instead of stealing my clothes and doing this ? Always you claimed it was for me. Well, how is this for me ? You died, you died...you're dead."

He didn't want to go back home to all the memories yet he did not want to stay here because Finlay needed the employment. At least, the old man wouldn't have to worry about Lucille firing him for false offenses now.

The metal doors scraped open and Dr. Alan McMichael asked softly, "What happened ?" Alan skirted past him with a brief sympathetic look to right the table.

Why couldn't the blond man have held him like in London or would the few seconds it'd have taken to clasp his shoulder really cost so much ? It could have helped dull the pain. Good God, the pain when he tried to breath it felt like his chest was being crushed as he stroked her hair back.

Edith had moved to support Cushing, "Lucille didn't like that Father asked them to leave and snuck into the club to try to kill him."

Cushing didn't even pretend at sorrow, "She slammed my head into the sink once, I knew she was gonna kill me, so I grabbed the razor, turned and stabbed her in the throat instead."

Gently, he rose to put Lucille back on the table and looked up at Edith. She looked conflicted, she wanted to be angry at Lucille for Cushing, but she also wanted to comfort him. No words passed either of their lips but he felt her compassion. Cushing gave himself and Lucille both disgusted looks then walked out of the room with Edith. So, he was alone with Alan and those pale blue eyes were also conflicted as Alan embraced him.

Warmth against his ear, "I am sorry, Thomas, but I-I just don't know what to say. She was your sister, yes, and you loved her dearly, but she tried to kill my best friend's father."

A wordless whimper escaped when he laid his head against the beige-clad shoulder. No one would have approved of them, not Edith and most certainly not Lucille. Yet, who else did he have besides Alan ? No one, because Edith needed Cushing more than she needed him.

"Ssh, ssh, how about we go get some drinks or something to help ?"

Thomas's arms tightened around Alan's waist, he trembled and involuntarily sobbed, "No, I can't leave ! She didn't like being alone...t-the worst things happened to her when she was alone."

Alan rubbed circles into his shoulder blades, his lower back. "Well, how about I bring something back then ? Is that better ?"

In normal circumstances he didn't like drinking with what he remembered of Father's enraged shouting echoing through the house. This time was different, this would always be different. "I-I suppose so, yes. You have to come back, she didn't, you must."

Strong fingers started combing the hair at his nape, "I will come back, I promise. Look at me, Thomas, see how serious I am ?"

Rather than keep looking anywhere but at the table, he did as bid. A circus with glitter exuding from every pore while riding on baby tortoises on unicycles couldn't have made Alan crack the faintest of smiles. When he wanted the American really would've made a fantastic Englishman. He'd actually thought Alan was English the first time they met until he'd heard the newly graduated doctor speak of course.

With a faint nod, he let go of the younger man and found himself gravitating back to Lucille. Once again, the doors scraped open and shut. Now that they were alone, he only had one last thing he wanted, needed, to do. Her lips were cool, unresponsive as he kissed her then pulled away. It startled him when a soft sound escaped her throat. Hope fluttered in his chest like a butterfly in an enclosure, could the mortician have made a mistake ? Could she merely be sleeping after all ? Not wanting to hope, but doing so anyway, he put his fingers to her neck. Except, the butterfly dashed itself against the glass ceiling because there was not the faintest heartbeat, Lucille really was dead. Impulsively, in case it were her soul, he sang their lullaby one last time.

A short while later, Alan returned to the mortuary with a few bottles of some bitter brew. They had drunk a bottle each before he forced himself to return to his hotel room, more drinks and some drunken relations followed. Laid beside Alan afterward he found himself thinking it'd been selfish of him to go to sleep right away last night instead of spending it in Lucille's room. Least wise, if he had he could've told her good bye when her getting out of bed woke him.

When he murmured, "I love you." he didn't know if he was saying it to Alan or Lucille or both of them. Whomever he was saying it to only Alan replied with the same. It made him wonder could Lucille have come back as a ghost ? Even though he and Lucille never put stock in religion what with their home life he had still believed in ghosts. The only way to find out he supposed would be to go to the scene of Lucille's death. He pushed himself onto his side to look down at his living love, "Alan, do you know where the gentlemen's club is ?"

The blond man nodded and pressed a too wet kiss to his shoulder, half-slurring. "I do, it is not far actually. That's why she was able to get there so early 'n surprise him."

Minutes passed as they cleaned up, they dressed, himself in his mourning blacks, then left for the Buffalo Gentlemen's Club. During their walk to the club, Alan explained what little he remembered learning of ghosts from when they had first met in the library. Type of emotion at death, what the building they died in was made of, other such things. By the time Alan finished explaining the doctor gestured him into the room alone ready to help if he was needed. Yellow plaster walls and white tile were what he noticed when he entered the locker room. No bloody water covered the floor, it'd long been drained as he turned to the nearest sink.

Something caught his eye and he crouched, picking it up he saw that it was a lock of Lucille's hair. Carefully, he took out his pocket watch, clicked it open, laid the hair inside then closed it. The hair, at least, had always been hers unlike the engagement ring which'd belonged to so many others. It reminded him that he would have to collect Lucille's trunk and belongings from her hotel room.

Still holding his pocket watch he rose, absently glancing in the mirror to startle in frightened dismay. "Lucille ?" The translucent shadow of his sister looked back at him sadly. "What are you doing here ?"

Instead of answering verbally she wrapped her arms around his shoulders though simultaneously her cheek passed halfway through his. As her ghostly form still wore his borrowed clothes it only served to emphasize how much they looked alike, far more like twins than an older sister and younger brother.

It was odd staring into the mirror and through her as he tried to find words to say. "Me, why ? Don't you get it, Lucille, you never have to see home again if you don't want to. I would do near anything to have the same chance."

Lucille gestured outward, perhaps due to her wound her voice was now a gravelly whisper, "Loves you, stay."

She wanted him to stay in America ? More over, she wanted him to stay because of...Alan. Did that mean she approved or did she just not want Edith to have the ring ? He chose to believe that it was the first option and thanked her. Her lips started moving again and he realized that it was the lullaby she was trying to sing. Just like in the mortuary, he sang too somehow knowing that it was the last time he would ever sing it with her. The last words had faded into empty air when she slowly faded from his sight.

Lucille's funeral was a small affair, himself, Alan, Edith and the preacher only. Two months later, Alan would invite him and Finlay to live in the McMichael Mansion. They would accept and he would sell Allerdale Hall a week later, keeping only a few of Lucille's soot moths and the toys that he had carved for her so long ago. Eventually, he would also take a place in Alan's practice as secretary, which led to his and Cushing's reconciliation as the older man acclimatized to his presence. It would overall be a very peaceful life.


End file.
